


Days in Falsettoland

by chetta



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, Multi, collection of oneshots, prompt-based, send me things to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chetta/pseuds/chetta
Summary: Just stories following the lives of the teeny tiny band.Chapter 3: Trina hadn’t always hated herself, loathed the reflection that stared back at her from the other side of the glass.





	1. Doggone

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks again to Literally for the beta :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the domestic prompt, 'Did you walk the dog?'

The dog is an impulse buy. A solution to the problem that is Marvin’s nagging wife and hyperactive, lonely child. The dog will give each of them something to fuss over and hopefully keep both of them out of his hair.

He and Trina had fought the night before--one of the loud, jolting ones that they couldn’t hide from Jason if they’d tried. By the time he’s driven himself to the shelter the next day, Marvin’s already forgotten what they’d been fighting about.

After examining a few of the uninspired dogs through the metal bars of their cages, Marvin settles on a medium-sized one of ambiguous pedigree. Two white spots cover the mutt’s eyes, marring the otherwise uninterrupted black of its slick coat. 

He signs papers, leaves his credit card info, and is suddenly the owner of a miserable-looking, but altogether healthy, puppy. It sits in the front on the way home, snout pushed up against the passenger window and tail whipping about excitedly.

Marvin walks into the den with the poor mutt squirming in his arms, sending Trina, who is busy laying out dinner, into a flurry of hysteric shouting.

Jason stares on, apparently unfazed--by both the fighting and the dog. 

So the poor thing doesn’t end up fixing all of Marvin’s problems.

000

“Hey there, little guy.” The arm Whizzer has draped over the side of the couch is stroking little circles on the dog’s head. “Aw, he’s so cute, Marv. What’s your name?”

Marvin watches in bemusement as Whizzer heaves the dog into his arms and makes faces at it. “Barlow.”

Whizzer looks affronted. “That’s a terrible name for a dog--who the hell named him?”

“I did.”

“Ah. Makes sense,” Whizzer says as Barlow licks stripes across his face with his long pink tongue. 

Marvin shakes his head and turns back to the program the two of them were watching before the dog interrupted. He can hear Trina puttering about in the kitchen-- it’s likely that she probably shut Barlow out after he started begging for scraps. 

“You’re such a cute boy, aren’t you?” Whizzer coos. It’s strange seeing him so cuddly, especially considering the most he’ll offer Marvin is an arm around his waist after a particularly good screw. 

Whizzer laughs as Barlow’s tongue streaks across his closed mouth, chasing whatever the man had for breakfast.

“That’s disgusting.” Marvin makes a face. “I’m so not kissing you ever again, just to let you know.”

Whizzer’s smile is self-satisfied. “Fine by me--I like Barlow better anyway.” 

The worst part is, Whizzer’s probably not even kidding. Marvin ignores the jibe and changes the channel on the tv. 

“So where’d you get the name Barlow from?” Whizzer asks. He lets go of the dog and it settles in his lap, head perched on Whizzer’s knee. 

“From this book I read called ‘Salem’s Lot-”

He’s interrupted by Whizzer’s snort. “Cause you just can’t go more than three minutes without reminding everyone of how “intellectual” you are, can you Marvin?”

He ignores that jibe as well. They’d never get anywhere if he started arguments every time Whizzer took a swing at him. “There was this dog in it that reminded me of him--they both have the dark fur and two white patches around the eyes.”

Whizzer makes a noise of consideration, quickly losing interest.

“But the dog in the book was killed in like the second chapter,” Marvin feels inclined to mention. “He was slaughtered and then hung on a cemetery gate.”

Looking mortified, Whizzer covers Barlow’s ears. “Christ, don’t say things like that around Barry.”

“It’s not like I named him after the dog though, it--sorry, did you just call him Barry?”

“Yes, I did,” Whizzer sing-songs, talking to the dog as if he were a small child. “Because Barlow is a terrible name for a dog. You like Barry more than Barlow, dontcha boy? Dontcha?”

Barlow’s tongue lolls, tail wagging madly at all the attention. 

Whizzer looks pleased with the result. “See. I’m always right about these things.”

“Dog names?” Marvin scoffs. 

“Among other things,” Whizzer says, turning his mouth up into a lascivious half-smile. 

Marvin’s sure he’s meant to find that sexy, but even Whizzer can’t make cradling a dog look seductive. 

A clever hand glides down Marvin’s chest, starting at his collarbone and making a beeline for his crotch. He snatches it before it can reach the waistband of his jeans. “Not now, Whizzer.”

Disappointed, Whizzer settles back down on the opposite side of the couch.

Usually, Marvin isn’t too picky about foreplay. Still, even the bawdiest man would be turned off by the multitude of barbed remarks that Whizzer’s sent his way tonight. He flicks his gaze back towards the television. 

Whizzer sighs; Marvin can tell just by the cadence that he’s upset. “I guess romance is dead,” he mutters under his breath, more to the dog than to Marvin.

Marvin isn’t especially hankering for a fight at the moment, so he lets Whizzer think that he hasn’t heard. He doesn’t like arguing while they’re at his house, it ruins the illusion of the perfect tight-knit family he’s got going on. 

They save the fighting for the apartment, where they can pretend that it’s all a game and have wonderful hate sex afterward. 

After a few silent commercial-filled minutes, Marvin sneaks a glance over at his lover. Whizzer’s reclined back, still scratching Barlow’s dark head and smoothing a hand up and down his flank. 

Stupid dog; how does he still manage to get more affection from Whizzer than Marvin does? He shoots the dog a dirty look

Barlow’s doesn’t give any hints that he’s aware of Marvin’s ire, tongue lolling and doe eyes glinting in the television’s glare. 

No--no way. Nope. Marvin is not jealous of a dog. He is not jealous of _his_ dog. 

First of all, because there’s nothing to be jealous of--Whizzer isn’t his boyfriend, he’s just the guy that Marvin lives and sleeps with on a daily basis and is sort of in love with. Not his boyfriend. Second of all, envying a dog is stupid and quite possibly the lowest a human can stoop. 

Ergo, Marvin is not jealous of the dog. 

He tries to convince himself of that fact as the TV drones on and Whizzer doesn’t look his way.

000

After their breakup, Whizzer doesn’t see Barlow again for another two and a half years. The two years are because Whizzer and Marvin weren’t speaking and the six months because the dog was living with Trina and her new husband.

Whizzer’s startled when upon entering their house for a ‘family dinner’, he’s immediately mobbed by a mass of black fur. “Oh my God,” he says, dropping to his knees in the foyer. “You guys still have Barry.”

Mendel looks at him funny. “Of course we do.”

“What did you think had happened to him?” Marvin asks, lip curling slightly seeing Whizzer fawn over the poor creature. He still hasn’t forgotten those days he spent wondering whether Whizzer preferred him or the dog. 

“I don’t know--I assumed he’d run away, or Trina had just finally had enough and ran over him with her car.” Whizzer laughs as Barlow puts both of his paws up on Whizzer’s shoulders so that he has easier access to his face. 

Marvin groans. “Whizzer, don’t let Barlow lick your face. Who knows where his tongue has been.”

“Don’t care. I’m basking in his love right now.”

Trina watches Whizzer and the dog with a puzzling look on her face. “If you like him so much, you can have him,” she says, oblivious to Marvin’s frantic gesturing at her to stop. 

Whizzer pushes Barlow away and forces him into a sitting position. “Seriously? You’d just let us take him home?”

“Not gonna lie, none of us like the dog,” Mendel chimes in from the living room. 

Jason lifts his head from his handheld baseball game for the first time since Marvin and Whizzer walked in. “Even _I_ don’t like the dog.”

“That’s a very kind offer, Trina, but we can’t just…” Marvin trails off. 

Both Whizzer and Barlow seem to be giving him puppy dog eyes. 

Goddammit. Now that’s just unfair.

Marvin sighs. “What the hell--we’ll take Barlow home with us.”

“Yes!” Whizzer hugs the dog to his chest, unaware of the drool soaking through the fabric of his sweater. _Thank you,_ he mouths to Marvin--who is already regretting the decision.

“Lovely. Jason, say goodbye to Barlow.” Trina sweeps off to fetch all of Barlow’s things. The dog trots along behind her.

Brushing the dog hair off of his coat, Whizzer smiles. The unadulterated joy on his face makes him look so much younger than any of his stupid skin creams have ever managed to.

Something in Marvin’s chest crumbles like a card tower in a hurricane. That smile does things to him. “I can’t believe the things I let you talk me into,” Marvin says as he hoists his boyfriend up off the floor. 

“You love it, secretly.” Whizzer leans in close, dropping his voice to a murmur. “And you know I’ll make it up to you.” A hand ghosts across the inseam of his slacks. 

Marvin slaps Whizzer’s hand away before it can do any more damage. “I’m sure you will. _Later,”_ he says with a significant look. 

Whizzer pulls his hand away, smiling slyly. He reaffirms, “When we get home.” The smirk falling away, Whizzer goes to investigate the newest gadget that Jason’s enamoured with. 

The effortless way in which Whizzer’s always been able to relate to Jason is a mystery to Marvin. As Jason’s father he should be his role model--the one he goes to when he has problems with a girl or help with his homework. That’s how Marvin was raised and it’s what he saw for himself when he thought about his future as a dad. 

“Thanks for agreeing to take the pooch.” Mendel walks up beside him. 

Marvin shakes his head, eyes still on the two figures hunched over the handheld. “Please don’t thank me. I’m sure Barlow won’t be much happier at my place than he is here.”

Mendel laughs. “God, you’re so whipped. And _I_ thought I had problems saying no--one look from Whizzer and I swear you’d cut your heart out.”

“If Whizzer wanted my heart cut out, Lord knows he’d probably do it himself,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right though, he’s pretty much got me wrapped around his little finger.”

He nods, gesturing to the television set in the den. “You see that? Brand new, 19-inch tv. I didn’t own one for the longest time--I hate watching tv, it’s all too depressing. Then Trina mentions one day that she’s missing her favourite programs and next thing I know I’m in an appliance store looking at the most expensive model.” 

Marvin winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. The things we do for love, amirite?” Hearing his name being called, Mendel walks off in search of his wife. 

He silently acquiesces. It’s been strange, compromising on things as small as dinner and as big as adopting pets, but Marvin would be lying if he said that he isn’t enjoying it. All the smiles and the soft looks, they make everything worth it.

Whizzer catches him looking and sends him a cheesy wink from where he’s curled up with Jason’s videogame on the couch. The little affection makes Marvin huff with amusement.

Whizzer mouths something. Marvin can’t make it out, but he knows just from the look in Whizzer’s eyes that it was _love you._

A wet nose nudges Marvin’s ankle, Barlow’s come back to torment Marvin from who knows where. 

“Hey there, mutt,” Marvin says, holding out his hand to be sniffed. 

Barlow doesn’t answer except to hop up and rest his paws on Marvin’s good dinner jacket, panting furiously. 

He sighs, already mourning the rug, the white shirt, and three pairs of shoes that will doubtless have to be sacrificed for the sake of the dog. “What have we gotten ourselves into, Barry?”

000

“Did you take the dog for a walk?” is the first thing Marvin says when he gets home from work.

Whizzer scoffs. “Of course I did--and I’m hurt that you’d think that I’d forget-”

“Whizzer, he’s sitting in the foyer with the leash in his mouth,” Marvin interrupts his boyfriend’s tirade. 

“Goddammit.” Whizzer comes out of the kitchen, glaring at Barlow as if it’s his fault that he’d been cooped up inside all day. “Well, I tried.” He leans in to kiss Marvin hello.  
Marvin accepts the kiss gratefully, twining a hand in Whizzer’s blazer to keep him in place. “It was an inspired bit of improv, I’ll give you that,” he says once they separate. 

“So why didn’t you walk the dog today?”

Whizzer groans. “They were doing Three’s Company reruns today--you know how much I love that show.” 

He quirks an eyebrow in response. “Yes, I’m aware of how much you like Three’s Company--enough to have already watched the entire thing several times.” 

Barlow’s still sitting there watching them with the leash clutched between his teeth. His wagging tail is the only part of him that’s moving; he still thinks that he’s going out now. 

“And now I have to take Barlow for a walk because you were too lazy to do it this afternoon,” Marvin complains. 

Whizzer walks his fingers up Marvin’s arm. “You sure he can’t wait just a little longer?” He runs his nose along the line of his lover’s jaw. 

Marvin swallows, loud in the quiet of the room. “A few more minutes won’t hurt.”

Grinning lasciviously, Whizzer pulls Marvin to their bedroom by his tie. “Sorry, Barry,” he says as he shuts the door on him, not sounding particularly apologetic at all.

000

Whizzer cards a hand through Marvin’s hair, messing it up even more than it already is.

“Cut it out” Marvin tries to wave him off, but Whizzer just shifts so he’s lying more fully on top of his boyfriend. 

The two are intertwined amongst their bed’s mussed covers, just enjoying the casual affection and idle conversation before they drift off to sleep. 

Pressing sweet kisses to Marvin’s neck and the hinge of his jaw, Whizzer says, “You’re not fooling anyone, Marv. You know you love it.”

He catches Whizzer’s face and brings him up for a searing kiss. “I’ll never admit to it.” Beaming, Marvin takes his time running fingers up the bridge of his lover’s nose, his smiling lips, the high line of his brow. 

Whizzer’s face scrunches up, lit up by the city lights outside. “Okay, now who’s being a bother, hm?”

Marvin laughs. “Only because I enjoy annoying you.”

“Ass,” Whizzer says, playfully swatting Marvin’s arm. 

“I thought you loved my ass.”

“I do love your ass,” he affirms. “But not so much the fact that you are one.”

“Oh. Ha ha.” Marvin taps Whizzer’s arm and the larger man rolls off of him. They fall into a familiar position, Marvin on his back and Whizzer just to the left with an arm thrown across his body like a seatbelt. 

It’s comfortable and intimate in the way he would have killed for years ago. 

There’s a sudden scratching at the door, followed by a high-pitched whine. 

“The dog wants to come in.” Whizzer lifts his head.

Marvin groans, burying his head in Whizzer’s shoulder. “Stupid dog.” Whizzer stirs slightly, prompting Marvin to seize his arm. “Please, no, don’t get up--Barlow can sleep outside tonight.”

Whizzer’s pouting at the door. The whimpering goes on, getting quieter and more miserable the longer it goes on. “Aw come on, Marv. He just wants to come in and cuddle.” 

“Don’t.” Marvin turns his head into his pillow. The warmth of Whizzer’s body disappears and the whimpering stops abruptly as the bedroom door is opened. “Whizzer, why?” Marvin grumbles. 

“Stop your moaning, he’s just coming in to sleep.” 

The first thing Barlow does upon hopping up onto the bed is make a bee-line for Marvin’s head, tongue laving over his ear and nose snuffling through his hair. 

“Whizzer,” Marvin groans again until the dog is pulled away and dropped at the foot of the bed. 

Whizzer settles against Marvin’s side and throws the arm back over his torso. _“Whizzer,”_ he imitates as he drops a kiss on Marvin’s head. 

Everything goes still for one heavenly moment, until Barlow shifts to get comfortable and manages to worm his way between the two men. 

“I hate this dog, I really do,” Marvin says, glaring at Whizzer over the mop of fur that is their pet.

Whizzer rubs Barlow’s head. He smiles. “Keep lying to yourself Marvin, I know you love Barry.”

Marvin frowns but doesn’t deny anything. “Stop calling him Barry.”

“It’s better than Barlow--a name you got from a book where the dog ended up dying.”

“Okay, he was named because of the dog but not after the dog in Salem’s Lot.” He defends himself, petting the soft fur of Barlow’s belly. “I forget what the dog’s name even was--I named Barlow after the vampire that terrorized the town and killed all of its inhabitants.”

Whizzer gapes. _“Marvin, that’s even worse!”_

Barlow shifts again, hind leg reaching out to kick Marvin in the stomach. 

“He does that again and I’m kicking him out,” he says, deadpan.

“You kick the dog out and I’ll kick you out, mister.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He’s too far away to kiss, so Marvin just runs a tender hand down Whizzer’s head. It’ll have to do until the dog moves again. “Goodnight, love.”

Whizzer’s smile, even in the dark of the room, is radiant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Literally for the beta.


	2. On Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Falsettos mini-fic party on Tumblr! Based off the prompt, 'Where did you find this?'

After they’ve finished, Whizzer levers himself out of bed and saunters towards the en-suite. 

“Do you mind if I borrow something of yours?” Whizzer asks, throwing a sly smirk over his shoulder. He can tell without looking that Marvin’s fixated on the sway of his hips and the quirk of his satisfied grin. “I came in slacks last night and I’m not-”

Marvin grins from where he’s sprawled inelegantly across the sheets.“Oh, you came in slacks last night? I thought you came in my-”

“Really, Marvin?” he complains, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. “You’re not nearly as funny as you seem to think you are. Or clever.” Whizzer’s frowning like Marvin just ruined his morning, but Marvin can hear the amusement hidden behind the meticulously crafted facade.

“Sure, go ahead and take something.” His voice comes out more laboured than he means it to. Marvin’s not as young as he used to be; his chest is still heaving from their exertions.

Whizzer disappears into the bathroom for a moment, emerging wearing only the pair of boxer shorts he’d showed up in last night. The rest of his outfit is still strewn about the apartment; Whizzer appears to be in no hurry to find it.

“Jesus Christ--do you own anything made this decade, Marv?” 

Marvin ignores the way the endearment makes his heart skip a beat. He leans back and stretches out his underused muscles. “Not if I can help it.” 

“Oh my God!”

He freezes. “What?”

Whizzer turns around holding what is quite possibly the ugliest shirt Marvin owns--a multi colored plaid affair studded with fake rhinestones. “Where did you get this? No wait, don’t answer, I don’t want to know which circus clown you left naked in a ditch somewhere.” His voice is torn somewhere between disgust and delight. 

“Ha ha ha,” Marvin says, deadpan. “If you must know, I was planning on giving it to Mendel for Hanukkah. It’s just ugly enough to be something that he would wear.”

Whizzer slips the shirt on over his shoulders but leaves it unbuttoned. Due to some odd manufacturing error, the sleeves are twice as long as they should be--making Whizzer look like a child trying on his father’s clothes. 

“How do I look?” he asks, striking a comic pose. Marvin cracks a grin and Whizzer’s serious demeanour dissolves into laughter. 

_Beautiful. Baffling. Ethereal. Radiant. Bizarre._

“You’ve looked better,” Marvin jokes instead. But as Whizzer flounces about the room like a facsimile of a runway model, hair deflated and eyes laughing, Marvin is gutted by a vulnerable, aching sensation. 

There’s been hints of it before, in those times when Whizzer smiles with his entire face or when his eyes catch the early morning light just so--but never to this degree. Marvin realizes what the feeling is, though at the same time he recognizes that he’s never known anything like it. 

_I love you._ Marvin feels the words in his throat as if they’re tangible things, lodged between the rings of his trachea.

Whizzer stops dancing, expression curious. He’s seen something in Marvin’s face. “What?”

The words are right there; the feeling of complete and unconditional love is just thrumming away underneath is breastbone. “Move in with me,” he says instead, because Marvin is a coward and their relationship, whatever it is, is not the place for fierce declarations of love. 

Whizzer sits down on he bed, eyes wide. “Sorry?”

His heart plummets. “I mean, if you’re going to be stealing my clothes from now on, I suppose we should just make it easier on ourselves.”

“I…” Whizzer’s face goes through a veritable encyclopedia of emotions, too shocked to even feign nonchalance. 

Marvin imagines he can see his own feelings, for a fraction of a second, mirrored back at him from Whizzer’s eyes.

After a long moment, Whizzer finally says, “Yeah. Sure.” He inserts himself into the empty space at Marvin’s side. “Why not?”

The smile Whizzer shoots him is bright and innocent--for a second Marvin can pretend that they’re like any other couple. 

“This is going to be terrible.” He’s still smiling. 

Marvin considers it for a moment. “Probably, yes.”

“But we’re just stubborn enough to try anyways.”

“Of course.”

The plastic rhinestones are cold against Marvin’s bare skin, but the kiss Whizzer pulls him into is warmer than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm re-posting this chapter because I decided that it needed some work. Hopefully I'll be back with something new sometime this week!
> 
> As always, send me prompts! I''l try to get around to all of them!


	3. Looking More or Less the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trina hadn’t always hated herself, loathed the reflection that stared back at her from the other side of the glass.

Trina hadn’t always hated herself, loathed the reflection that stared back at her from the other side of the glass. Once upon a time, there was nothing she loved better than to flounce about in front of the mirror wearing her prettiest dress--done up in pearls and long swaths of taffeta.

Her mother used to hold Trina’s tiny face between her palms and smile. “My beautiful girl,” she would say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Someday soon, you’ll be breaking too many hearts to count.”

Even at that age, Trina was enthralled by the concept of love. She understood, in her own infantile way, that love was to be treasured above all things. That’s why when she played with her dolls, the prince always got the princess in the end. It’s the way the stories should go--the beautiful woman finds her Prince Charming; the two of them fall deeply in love and are married under the light of the setting sun.

Naive, eight-year-old Trina never questions it, never strays from her belief that this is the way her life will be as well. 

Because in what kind of world would the princess and prince not live happily ever after?

000

By the time she gets to high school, Trina’s clued into the fact that things typically aren’t that simple.

The boys, for one thing, are not nearly as charming as they were made out to be. They’re smelly and hairy; half of them only want to talk to her because they think any scrap of kindness earns them the right to run their hands up under her skirt. Hardly the fairytales she was waiting on.

Trina’s begun changing as well. She’s lost the puppy fat that made her face so round and joyful, begun growing up instead of out. The other girls whisper behind hands about cup sizes and how far they’ve gone with the boys they know. Trina has nothing to contribute.

There are some boys who show interest, Trina still retains some sense of girl-like allure even as those around her become more and more like women. She lets them take her out; they call her beautiful and try to cop a feel in their dad’s car. She never goes on more than one date.

“You’ll find someone very sweet, I’m sure of it darling,” her mother says one day as she straightens Trina’s hair before school. “Boys are often very taken in by beautiful girls like you. Not all of them will be the one.”

Trina smiles at her mother in the mirror. “Thanks, mama.”

With one last kiss on her cheek, her mother walks back into the kitchen. She’s a beautiful woman; old age only seems to exacerbate the effortless grace and self-possession she was endowed with.

People used to tell Trina that she had her mother’s face--back when she was young and felt as beautiful as people told her she would be. Trina can’t see now what they did then; any of the fine features she might have shared with her mother are hidden under a layer of acne and the fringe of her bangs.

Trina cranes her head. The change of angle doesn’t provide her with a change in perspective.

She isn’t beautiful. At least, she isn’t anymore. Trina knows this with all the certainty a fifteen-year-old can muster.

Her hair doesn’t lie flat like it should; instead, it puffs up when it should be cascading down her back.  
Her nose is off-center and looks too small for her face.

She’s spindly like an insect; all elbows and razor-sharp collar bones no matter how much she eats. She swims in shirts and skirts that all the other girls manage to fill out.

Trina straightens her hair one last time and then turns away from the mirror. Those four corners are not the refuge they once were.

000

Marvin is nice; or at least, Trina thinks he is. He’s introduced to her by his mother, one of the women Trina’s family goes to Temple with. At first meeting, she hadn’t been so keen on the man--he’d seemed very selfish and oddly preoccupied with his own life.

After a couple of dates, though, Trina can admit that she may have been wrong in her initial impression. Marvin’s much more polite than he makes himself seem sometimes; he has a nice smile and loves more than anything to make her laugh with clever comments.

So it doesn’t matter that he’s still rather cold to her--Trina can play that off as just being part of his reserved demeanor. She doesn’t care that when he touches her his hands are clinical and impersonal, somehow both fumbling and sure at the same time.

They’ll probably be married--she’s not so naive that she doesn’t see the glances their parents throw at each other during Temple services and Shabbas dinners. They expect that the two of them will be engaged within the year, and she doesn’t think that they will be disappointed.

Marvin is nice, and he’s told her more than once that she’s very beautiful, so Trina is happy with him.

000

“Jason, can you get the door?” Trina calls through a mouthful of hairpins. It sounds more like a collection of garbled consonants, but she hears the door open downstairs, so it must have been close enough for Jason to understand.

She finishes fluffing and pinning her hair back and heads for the door. The sound of friendly voices echo through the house almost in time with the click of her heels.

“Trina, hello.” Rachel smiles a gap-toothed smile at her--Trina had used to make fun of her for it when they’d been schoolgirls. She has one arm around an obliging Jason and the other thrown out for a hug. “And my--don’t you look gorgeous!”

Trina smiles, preening only slightly as she walks into Rachel’s embrace. “Thank you, Rachel. Oh--it’s so good to see you!”

“We need to do some proper catching up after I drop Jason off tomorrow.” The two of them are maternal cousins, had grown up alongside each other before branching off after getting married.

To Jason, she says, “Go grab your bag, honey.” He wrestles himself out from under his aunt’s arm in a mere fraction of a second; he’s never been one for indulging family for too long.

The two of them watch him tear up the stairs. “He’s grown so big,” Rachel remarks. “I hardly recognized him when he came to answer the door.”

“I know--almost eight years old now. What’s time done to us?”

Rachel flicks her gaze down over Trina’s tight dress, probably thinking about all of the ways she’s rounded out while Trina’s managed to stay as petite as ever. “Well, I see it hasn’t done too much to you, that’s for sure. I swear, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Rolling her eyes, Trina waves her hand at her. “Stop it. I look like a hag in this dress.”

“Don’t play coy--it doesn’t suit you,” she says good-naturedly. “You’re stunning.”

“Do you think Marv will like it?” she asks, suddenly unsure where she’d been certain only moments before.  
Rachel scoffs. “If he’s a man with working eyes. Enjoy your anniversary dinner tonight--though I have the feeling you two won’t be doing too much dining."

Trina gapes, scandalized in the best way. “Rachel, shush! Jason’s coming.” No sooner is she done speaking then Jason rounds the bend of the stairs, socked feet pounding a staccato beat on the steps.

“I’m ready to go,” he informs them, his mouth turned down into a rigid frown. Lugging his backpack behind him, he stops to give his mother a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. “Bye, Mom.”

Rachel shakes her head as he shuts it behind him. “Kids these days are so full of attitude sometimes. I just don’t understand them.”

Trina can relate. It’s getting harder and harder to equate the same affectionate child Jason was with the angry, neurotic one that seemed to replace him almost overnight.

“Just the other day Ruth and I were washing dishes when she-”

“You should probably get going now.” Trina shoots a glance at the clock on the wall. Marvin will be home soon and she wants dinner ready before he gets here. “I still have things to do before Marv gets back. Have a good night--call me if anything happens.”

Being a woman who can tell when her welcome’s been overstayed, Rachel heads out with another tight hug and a jaunty little wave. Trina watches her station-wagon rumble down the driveway before she springs into sudden action.

It’s her anniversary and she wants everything to be perfect.

In less than an hour she has dinner on the table, the house tidy, and her makeup refreshed. The dress is tight and more than a little constricting, but the way she looks when she passes the hall mirror more than makes up for its shortcomings.

For once in the longest while, Trina feels beautiful. She revels in it, pauses every couple of minutes just to appreciate the way the fluorescents glint off her hair, or the way the short hem of her dress accentuates her lithe legs.

She puts on the radio while she waits. The song is unfamiliar, but she hums along anyways.

At a quarter to 7, she hears the front door open.

“Hi, honey.” Marvin sounds frustrated--probably another taxing day at the office. But who better to take your mind off things than your gorgeous wife?

Trina goes to meet him in the foyer. “Marvin.” She greets him with a thorough and tantalizing kiss.

He looks almost surprised at the intrusion for just a moment before his expression smooths out. “A good day today?”

“It will be,” she says coyly, inching just a little bit closer.

Marvin turns away to hang his coat on the door before breezing up the stairs. “And you can tell me all about it once I change into something more comfortable.”

Trina’s smile frosts a little on her face. She feels slightly off-balance, and not because of the heels. “Okay.”

The phone rings in the kitchen. She has her hand on the receiver before she hears the hurried “Got it!” from upstairs.

Trina withdraws her hand and goes to wait in the den. She sits on the couch and waits for Marvin to be done talking to whoever it is that decided to call at 7 on a weeknight.

It's barely a minute before Marvin’s back in the foyer. Trina rises to meet him, snagging his hand. “I hope you like roast beef because-"

He pulls his hand out of her grasp. “Trina, honey, I’m really sorry but I need to get back to the office. Work emergency.” Marvin’s face is red and his eyes are wild as he grabs his coat back off the rack.

Trina feels rather like she’s been punched in the stomach. “But-”

“I’m so sorry; you and Jason are going to have to eat without me.” With that he’s gone; she hears the car start up almost immediately after and by then it's too late to call him back.

Trina sinks into the couch. A nauseating, ugly feeling is rising up inside her like a red tide.

Marvin _knew_ what today was. He knew it and he still ran out the door at the first chance he got.

Tears have wrestled their way out of her eyes before she thinks to stop them. Her first thought is to cover up the food so that Marvin won’t have to warm it up when he gets home.

There’s a bouquet in a vase on the table, roses and chrysanthemums and lilies. Marvin had brought it to her this morning with a cheery smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Trina flings her hand through the vase before she knows what she’s doing. Water spills across the table, the vase cracks upon impact with the floor.

They have a mirror in the dining room, a wide one that Trina often tries not to look into. She sees now what she’s been trying to ignore--she’s not beautiful, she’s not worth it.

Her cheeks and smudged with mascara and rouge. Her hair lies limp, shaken loose from its confinement with her sudden burst of movement. Her hand is already beginning to swell an ugly purple.

Surrounded by mangled and crumpled flowers, Trina looks into the mirror and sees what she should have before:

The cracks and wrinkles in the facade. Imperfections that altogether create a pathetic picture.

She’s unattractive. There’s nowhere she can run or hide from the fact; it just is.

000

They’re shopping for new clothes, because _of course_ Mendel has the fashion sense of a blind man. And to top that off, he isn’t a person who enjoys shopping. Anyone would have thought that he was being tortured from the way he’d complained as she’d dragged him from store to store.

Trina holds up a dark dinner jacket, lining up its sleeves with her husband’s arms. “What do you think?”

Mendel rolls his eyes. “I think its a jacket.” He flips over the price tag, his eyes widening. “An _expensive_ jacket.”

“Oh, be quiet. It’s not like we can’t afford it, Mr. $80 an hour.” Trina folds the jacket over her arm, careful not to ruin the neat lines.

“I suppose you’re right--we’re hardly going to go broke from just a few shirts,” he says offhandedly, inspecting a dress shirt hanging on a nearby rack. Trina can pinpoint the exact second Mendel sees the price, his jaw practically hanging by his ankles. “Really? Three figures for a single piece of clothing? On what planet does that make any logical sense?”

Trina brushes his hands away to inspect the label. “It’s Gucci,” she explains.

Mendel’s expression remains blank. “I’m sorry, it’s what now?”

She whirls around, rolling her eyes even as she gives in to laughter. Mendel may act obtuse sometimes, but the reality is that he is anything but.

“Should I know what that means?”

Trina wanders into the women’s section, past skirts and slacks that probably cost more than what she paid for her wedding dress. “Let’s go check out,” she calls over her shoulder. “I think I’m shopped out for today.”

Mendel heaves a sigh of relief, trailing somewhere behind her. “Thank God. I don’t think I could have taken another half an hour of all this. Honestly, it’s a wonder anyone still shops here with how expensive...” He trails off suddenly.

“What?” Trina backtracks her way over to him.

“Honey, look at this,” he marvels, reaching out to snag something from the rack. Its a dress, more of a gown really, in a wine red so deep that Trina imagines it must go on forever. Mendel’s hands skate over it almost reverently.

The long swath of fabric is thrust into Trina’s hands before she even knows what’s happening.

“You’re trying this on,” Mendel says, his tone brokering no room for argument.

She tries to foist the dress back at him. “No way. This--this thing is so beautiful and I would just--”

“Make it even better.” He lays a warm hand on her cheek, his thumb rubbing across her cheekbone.

Trina shakes her head. “You know, you make no sense sometimes. One second you’re begging me to let us leave and the next you’re forcing us to stay longer.”

He pushes her towards the dressing rooms. “What can I say--I’m just a changeable person.”

She allows him to usher her into an empty room and shut the door behind her.

“I’m not going to try it on,” Trina calls through the expensive wood paneling.

“Come on, Trin, you have to.” Mendel’s insistence hasn’t abated in the least. “What are you so afraid of?”

Her thoughts flash back to a similar dress from years previous--blood on her knuckles and a stale peck upon her cheek the only mementos of what should have been a happy night.

“Nothing.”

“Then you have no excuse!”

Trina groans. “Fine. If it means so much to you.” She shucks her skirt and then her blouse, pointedly avoiding her reflection in the glass.

“You have to zip me up,” she tells Mendel after she’s gathered the dress up around her.

Mendel’s expression brightens as she slinks out of the dressing room, shoulders hunched and arms drawn into her chest. He motions for her to turn towards the mirror as his fingers catch the zipper.

“Look at you.” He grins, his chin hooking itself over her shoulder.

Trina’s almost surprised by what she sees when she turns to meet her reflection. Not a hag playing at a princess, or a harpy decked out in fine fabric. She looks like herself; no more but certainly no less.

Her long hair falls delicately over one shoulder. Trina wonders absently if it’s always looked like that, or if some change had come about one day while she wasn’t paying attention. Suddenly, all the flaws she once saw seem to melt away; her nose isn’t too small, her eyes aren’t too far apart.

Mendel steps away from her, still beaming. Trina barely notices the movement.

The dress sways as she turns, enfolding her body as if it were a lover’s embrace. For once it feels as if she is wearing her clothes rather than _them_ wearing _her_.

“You’re beautiful,” Mendel says. It’s not the first time Trina’s been told that, not by a long shot, but it is the first time that anyone has said that and looked the way Mendel does now--his face open and loving, his mouth curling up just slightly on one side.

Trina locks eyes with him in the mirror. A smile takes over her face, one so unrestrained in its happiness that it’s almost painful. Because, for the first time, Trina doesn’t need to hear the words to know that they’re true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a request for Trindel, so even though it took me a veritable age, here it is! I probably won't be back for a while--I've started a couple of other projects that I want to finish before devoting more time to this one. Title comes from the Long Blondes' song Once and Never Again.
> 
> [Come cry about Falsettos with me on tumblr!](http://memesichetta.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my obligatory prompt-based collection of short stories--guys please please please send me anything you want to see on the archive. I'm open to all ideas! This will be where most of my writing will be for the next couple months as I work on a Falsettos fic that will hopefully be about 40,000 words (fingers crossed). I have another story set to go next week that will be posted either in 3 chapters or all at once, I haven't decided yet. 
> 
> If you don't feel comfortable with your story ideas being public, feel free to drop me an anonymous ask on Tumblr.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://memesichetta.tumblr.com/)


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